


been here all along

by robokittens



Series: hockey threesome hell [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (like almost), Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Go Sleep on the Couch Kent Parson, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Relationship Negotiation, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4165215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric stares at him, incredulous. "Kent Parson," he says slowly, "did you just … invite me home to meet your parents?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	been here all along

\\_ \\_ \\_

When their knees brush under the table the first time, Eric looks up sharply. Parse smiles at him around a mouthful of pancake, syrup glistening on his lips. Eric can feel the tips of his ears getting red, and that's even before his eyes drop to the mark on Parse's neck. He's never left something that ... that visible on someone before, never been allowed. He wants to touch it.  
Wants to bite at it, just to see what Parse will do.

"Yo, Bits," Lardo says, probably not for the first time. "Pass the syrup?"

Eric starts. "I'm so sorry," he says. He grabs the syrup pitcher next to him and shoots it down the table at Dex, who passes it the rest of the way. 

The rest of the meal passes in idle, hungover chatter. Parse's knee presses against Eric's again and stays there, thighs pushed together. He tries not to imagine Parse holding Jack's hand under the table. He can _see_ both of Jack's hands, it doesn't even make sense, but ... somehow.

Kent Parson had rocked back into their lives, and it seemed like he was making himself at home.

It's a fantasy, Eric knows that. He's not even the first one to have it, judging by the stack of Parse/Zimms fanfiction he definitely hadn't looked up, guiltily, sometime after Jack had admitted that he and Parse were talking again. Because that would be reading porn about his … about Jack, and that would be weird. (Surprisingly few of the stories had featured Parse coming on Jack's face. A grave oversight, Eric knows now.)

He can feel Lardo's raised eyebrow from across the table. There's no way she can know what he's thinking, but she has that way of making him feel judged, like an even tinier version of his mama. He tries to school his face into something normal.

"Bittle," Jack says quietly, and Eric looks over. "Thanks for breakfast." He smiles, and Eric knows, knows, that Jack had gotten his attention just to smile at him.

_Christ on a cracker_ , Eric thinks, _I do like that boy._

 

_/

 

Eric's not sure what to expect when he knocks on Jack's door. For them to be — kissing? Something more? Fighting, this fragile truce come to an end?

"It's unlocked," Parse calls. That probably rules out sex.

" — like you live here," Jack is saying, a fondly bitchy note to his voice, when Eric finally registers what he's seeing in front of him. Jack's sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom and Parse is sprawled out across from him. It looks uncomfortable, especially the way he's propped up on his elbows on the hardwood.

They're eating last night's pie. Cold. With their bare hands.

Eric shuts the door behind him, maybe a bit harder than necessary.

"You're eatin' my pie," he says slowly. He can feel his accent coming out stronger, taste it almost. "You're eatin' my pie _now_."

"It's delicious," Parse says around a mouthful of pecan. He has the decency to sound just appreciative and not surprised, at least.

Eric takes a deep breath, lets it out as slow as he can. "I think that's the longest one of my pies has ever lasted in this Haus."

"We were sleeping," Jack protests. "And playing hockey."

If Eric's learned anything about Jack, it's that he's only any good at lying to himself. And he never lies about hockey.

"Without me," Eric says, a little hurt creeping into in his voice. He sits down next to Jack, cross-legged as well; their knees bump as he makes himself as comfortable as he can manage. Jack leans in just slightly and rests a hand on the small of Eric's back, warm, comforting.

Parse nudges the half-empty tin toward him. "Pie?" he offers.

Eric's eyes roll so far back in his head it hurts. "It looks delicious," he says dryly. Beside him, he can hear Jack snort. He shifts, not quite daring to lean against him — not with the door unlocked — but making his intent clear. Jack's hand on his back trails just a little bit lower.

"Some guy here bakes, I guess," Parse has been saying, Eric only half-listening to the half-hearted chirps. "Some kinda huge nerd, but I hear he's pretty cute."

Eric sighs. "I am so unimpressed by you it _hurts_."

"Did I tell you about the time he hit on Lardo," Jack says, almost dreamily. 

"In my defense," Parse says, holding a hand up in protest, "she did not _look_ like the kind of girl who'd punch me in the balls."

"It was the highlight of that visit." Jack sounds like he realizes what he's saying halfway through saying it, and he and Parse have one of the weird brooding moments that Eric is starting to realize he's going to have to get used to, if he's going to be spending time with them together. 

There's … a lot of history, and all Eric knows is that he doesn't know most of it. That, and Jack keeps looking at Parse like he's surprised he's still here, like he can't believe there might be a future.

It's hard for Eric not to be jealous. Maybe if he and Jack had actually talked about it, seriously talked; maybe if they'd put a name to this thing between them. Maybe then he'd be less jealous at the appearance of … He doesn't know if there's a name for what's between Jack and Parse, either. Except for those weird dark moments though, they chirp (and flirt, Eric tries not to notice) like there isn't the better part of a decade of angst sitting between their Q days and now.

Jack's hand is still warm on his back, and the touch feels _intimate_ in a way that's not quite sexual. He's going to focus on that, and not on Parse's stupid stories, or his stupid casual air of ownership.

"So I was saying to Zimms," Parse says, and Eric feels himself bristle, "you guys should just come back up with me, and I can put you back on the train after dinner. Dad's grilling tonight; trust me, you'd hate to miss it."

Eric stares at him, incredulous. "Kent Parson," he says slowly, "did you just … invite me home to meet your parents?"

_Don't you think we're moving a little fast_ , he thinks, but he doesn't say it. It's maybe not an appropriate joke to make, not right now (not when Parse is being so open, so honest; not when Jack seems so _happy_ ), and besides, Parse is honest to goodness _blushing_.

"Well, Jack's met them," Parse says eventually, the color having mostly retreated to his ears, the high points of his cheeks. "I just thought you'd want to get off this shitty little campus, that's all." The bluster is so transparent that neither Eric nor Jack call him on it.

"His dad is a good cook," Jack offers. There's a quirk to his lip, a smile threatening to break out. It's .... _so_ hard for Eric not to be jealous. There's so much of Jack, so much _to_ him, and it's not like Eric has a right to any of it. Not even his smiles. But.

"Let's do it," he says decisively.

Parse grins up at him. There's pecan filling in his teeth. "Driver picks the music," he says. 

Eric rolls his eyes.

 

_/

 

As it turns out, Parse and Eric have strikingly similar tastes in music.

 

_/

 

The Parson house is a cozy, two-story townhouse in a comfortable cul-de-sac in a comfortable suburb. The whole thing just looks _nice_ , looks lived-in and real, from the deck chairs on the front porch to the green curtains hanging in the (small, but well-appointed) kitchen.

Four hours in a car with him, not to mention … well. Last night, and all. And this is the most real Parse has felt.

Parse parks in the driveway and jumps out of the car so quickly Eric half-expects him to come around and hold the door open for him to get out. Eric's sat shotgun for the last part of the trip — they'd swapped out, Jack even driving for a little while and trading Rihanna for a classic rock station. ("Driver picks the music," he'd said smugly.)

Jack _does_ open Eric's door, offers him a hand down from the Jeep and squeezes it before letting go. "Let's do this," he says, but it's mostly covered up by Parse hollering.

"Mom!" Parse shouts, halfway up the driveway. Looking closer, Eric can see the door is open, with just a screen door shut.

The screen opens and a woman steps out — about Parse's height, hair just as blonde but even curlier, hands on her hips. "Kenny," she says tersely, "What have I told you about — _Is that Jack Zimmermann_?"

Jack raises one hand in an awkward wave. "Hey, Mrs. Parse," he says. His other hand rests on the small of Eric's back for just a moment, just long enough to propel him forward and to send a surge of warmth through him.

They've barely stepped up onto the porch before Mrs. Parson has enveloped Jack in a hug. When she pulls away, she keeps hold of his shoulders. "Jack! How _are_ you, dear? I hear you're about to graduate? And you're in the playoffs? Kent keeps us updated, but it's so good to see you in person."

Eric looks over at Parse, sees him wince. 

Jack holds his own well, answering Mrs. Parson's questions and gradually easing her into small talk, slowly becoming more animated himself. It's only when he says something about the team and gestures to Eric that she really seems to notice him.

"And who is this?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow. Eric starts to introduce himself, but Parse speaks up first.

"This is Eric Bittle, Jack's..." Parse hesitates, ends the word with a hiss of breath through his teeth. 

The pause seems to stretch forever. Eric wants to reach out for Jack's hand; he always does. He doesn't; he never does. He can feel Mrs. Parson's eyes on him.

"Linemate," Parse finishes.

"It's so nice to meet you, ma'am." 

Mrs Parson visibly brightens. It's amazing how far a bit of common decency will get you up North.

"Pars— Kent I mean, he said you liked blueberry, so I've got blueberry pie for you in the car. I hope that goes with dinner."

"It should be perfect!" Mrs Parson says. She beams at him. Eric smiles back, managing to look less pleased with himself than he feels.

At a look from Jack, Parse fetches the pie from the car.

"I hope neither of you are vegetarians," Mrs Parson says as they follow her inside. "Greg — Kent's father," she says, with a nod toward Eric, "is making steaks. You're not, are you?" She sounds genuinely concerned. Parse could stand to learn something from her.

Eric smiles up at her. "Oh, no," he says honestly. "Jack would never let me. He always says I need to —"

"Eat more protein!" Jack chimes in, surprisingly loud, and Eric laughs. It's a joke between them now almost as much as it's true ... almost. Jack is no less insistent on it than he was when Eric was a frog. Jack's smile is small but genuine when they make eye contact, so it's a surprise when Jack wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in.

"Pipsqueak," Jack says affectionately, and suddenly Eric realizes this is Jack _on_. 

And he stays on, chatting with Parse's mother, and with "Mr Parse" when he comes in bearing huge platters of food. It leaves Eric and Parse to talk to each other, and it strikes Eric again how much easier it was to have Parse's dick up his ass than it is to talk to him.

"Vegas is home now, y'know?" Parse is saying, so honest it's making Eric a little uncomfortable. "My team is there. My cat. I love Bambi — did you meet Bambi? Little asshole's around here somewhere I'm sure; she's old but she's still sneaky — but I fuckin' miss Kit, not gonna lie to you."

Eric pauses. "Your cat's name is Kit?"

"Uh." Parse says, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Kit … Purrson."

Eric blinks at him. "Did you name your cat a cat pun of your own name?"

"Well sure." Parse looks indignant now rather than ashamed, offended that Eric would even question it. "I mean, Ka —"

"Like Katy Perry!" Eric says brightly. It's loud enough that the rest of the table turns to look at them. Jack looks kind of confused, Mr and Mrs Parson resigned.

Parse leans in toward Eric and stage-whispers, almost conspiratorially, " _Exactly_."

 

_/

 

Mrs Parson waves Eric away when he offers to help with the dishes.

"If my layabout son won't help me —" ("Hey!" Parse squawks, indignant) " — you're certainly not going to. You're a _guest_. And besides, your pie was more than enough. You said it was your mother's recipe?"

"And mine. We came up with it together." 

He takes the excuse to grab another platter off the table and follow her into the kitchen — he can't help it, if there's a kitchen around he just _ends up_ there — but she takes it away with a laugh. "All right, stop being helpful. Why don't you boys go down to Kent's room?

" _Kenny_!" she calls into the dining room, "Why don't you show the boys your room?"

" _Fine_ , Mom," Parse calls back, exasperated, and Eric doesn't do a very good job of stifling his laughter.

There's a moment where Eric wonders if Mrs Parson would even let the three of them alone in a room if she knew what had happened last night, but … well, fortunately there's no way she could know; he's a little embarrassed just thinking she might. 

He heads back to the dining room, and when Parse waves him down a hallway he follows.

The first thing Parse does, when they get to the basement, is turn on his laptop. He's got some sort of setup that allows him to pump the music through much louder speakers, and it is _quite_ loud. 

The song has barely been on long enough for Eric to identify it ("Love Me Harder" by Ariana Grande) when Parse's hand is around his wrist and pulling him in, the fingers of Parse's other hand ghosting over his throat and cupping his chin. Parse opens his mouth like he's going to say something and thinks better of it, presses it to Eric's mouth instead.

Eric's lips part before he's even thought about it, licking into Parse's mouth. The hand on his jaw drops down to his waist, to his hip, and pulls him in closer.

They kiss just a moment longer before Parse takes a step back. "Sorry," he says, nonchalant. "Shoulda asked, first."

"No," Eric laughs, breathy. "No, that's — that's ok. That's good." He licks his lips just to watch Parse watch him.

And over Parse's shoulder, Jack is watching, too. He meets Eric's eyes, and Eric can feel his smile get just a little bit more genuine at the dumbfounded expression on Jack's face. It's not like Jack's never seen them kiss before, Eric thinks, and he has to laugh at himself: how blasé he's become about making out with Kent freaking Parson.

"What," Parse says, and Eric buries his face in Parse's shoulder, muffling his laughter.

"Nothing," he says, "nothing."

"At least take it to the couch," Jack says. He's leaning against the back of the couch in question — a brown leather sectional that looks like it's seen better days. 

Eric eyes the couch warily. It doesn't look as bad as the Haus couch, not by half, but even from this vantage point he can see more than one dark stain, a torn cushion.

"The couch," he repeats dubiously. By the time he graduates Samwell, he'll never trust a couch again.

"It's a good couch," Jack says, almost defensively. Even in that tone he sounds like himself again, not the PR-approved wunderkind he'd been through dinner. 

Parse smirks. "Fits two."

It takes Eric a second to realize what he's implying — it's a big sectional and should fit five easily. "Does it fit three?" he asks. He's stopped looking at the couch and started looking at Jack, the way he's slouched against it, the way his eyes are going dark. There's a warm frisson in the pit of Eric's stomach.

"You want it to?" Parse asks, and his voice is low, one of his hands curled around Eric's bicep. "Because I've got a bed that might fit us a little better."

He lets go of Eric's arm and walks past him, toward a door Eric hadn't really noticed before. He opens it and the three of them file through. Jack shuts the door with a _bang_ that, thankfully, still isn't louder than the music.

"Forgot it did that," Jack mutters, and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest.

Parse lays a hand on Eric's shoulder. Eric turns to face him, and he knows what's going to happen even before Parse leans in. Parse isn't subtle, but he is a good kisser, is the thing; it's hard to say no, even when his hands are drifting down Eric's chest, down his sides, palming his ass and pulling him closer. Hard to say no with Jack watching, rapt.

Parse walks him backward, two steps, three. It's not a surprise when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Parse's hands slide off his ass and around to his front, pushing Eric's shirt up and tracing over his abs. He makes a noise, something quiet and appreciative, into Eric's mouth.

Eric nearly falls back onto the bed when Parse releases him. It barely takes a push for his knees to buckle, for him to land hard on the edge of the mattress.

"Jack," Parse says softly. And that's all it takes for Jack to cross the room, for him to be in Parse's arms. They're nice to watch, Eric has to admit; there's a tension to the way they kiss, and an ease underneath it. He sees a flash of Parse's tongue, a hint of Jack's teeth sinking into Parse's lip, and then Parse shoves Jack away, too.

He says something nonsensical about being a good host, but Eric's not listening. His world shrinks to the way the backs of Jack's fingers are tracing down his cheek, to the feeling of Jack's breath on his lips. To the light in Jack's eyes that he'd swear, swear wasn't there a minute ago.

"Hey," Jack breathes, and then Eric's on his back and Jack is held above him by the force of one trembling arm.

Jack lowers himself down slowly.

It's so dumb, so cliche, to say that every kiss is like the first kiss; Eric's almost certain there's a Taylor Swift lyric or three along those very lines. But with Jack … sometimes, it feels like it. There's a hesitance to the way Jack's lips brush against his; a hesitance but also a passion, something fervored and dreamlike. The way Jack touches his face: a soft press of knuckles to his cheekbone, a drag of fingertips down the back of his ear, a thumb just on the edge of his eyelid. Like Jack needs assurance, even now, that Eric is here. That he's real.

The quiet _skrrrch_ of wood on carpet Parse pulls out the desk chair and sits down is almost enough to break the moment. The memory hits Eric hard, straddling Parse's lap in a chair much like that — was it only last night? Goodness. His ass clenches, involuntary, around nothing.

The memory is at odds with the soft kisses he's trading with Jack, quiet, no tongue and only barely on the edge of open-mouthed. 

He says Jack's name quietly, and doesn't say anything else. He squeezes his eyes shut. Jack nuzzles at his jawline.

"Do you want me to go down on you," Jack whispers into his neck.

Eric squirms. The thought of Jack's mouth on his dick is enough to start getting him hard for real, more than just the persistent arousal he's been feeling since Parse first kissed him.

"I mean," Jack says. "Do you want me to eat you out?"

Eric freezes.

"Do you … want to?"

" _Yeah_ ," Jack says. His breath is hot on Eric's neck. He sounds like he means it. "I want to kiss you everywhere. I want to taste you. I want … I want you to feel good," he finishes awkwardly, cutting himself off, and Eric wonders what he'd been going to say.

And then Jack kisses him again, and whispers, "I want whatever you want."

Eric's eyes snap over to Parse, sitting there looking pleased as punch. He's far enough away that Eric isn't even sure he can hear what they're saying, not with their voices that low. He might just be enjoying the visual. He might, for that matter, just be pleased with himself for being Kent Parson; Eric wouldn't put it past him.

"I want whatever _you_ want," Eric says.

He lets Jack move him, position him on knees and elbows, lets Jack ease off his jeans, his underwear, his socks. Jack trails his fingers over Eric's shoulders, through his hair, down the backs of his thighs.

Eric leans forward, forehead buried in his arms where they cross on the pillowcase. He's already shaking, and all Jack's doing is pressing kisses to the small of his back. 

Jack's hands cup his ass, warm and big and solid. He can feel Jack's breath ghost over his tailbone, and he shivers.

"You're gonna love this," Jack promises. He presses a kiss on Eric's ass cheek, and Eric giggles, buries his head further into the pillowcase to muffle the sound.

He stops laughing when Jack's thumbs dig into his ass and pull his cheeks apart, when Jack's tongue licks a broad, flat stripe over his hole. He gasps into the pillow.

There's nothing dignified about the way Eric squirms back onto Jack's tongue, or the way he wraps his fingers around the slats in the headboard of Parse's bed. Or the way he honest-to-God _squeals_ when Jack works his tongue up in there the first time, loud enough that he's worried Mr and Mrs Parson will be able to hear him right over the music.

He wants Jack to keep going, he wants Jack to stop, he needs Jack to stop so he can flip both of them over and fuck Jack through the mattress _right now_ , he needs this to never end.

"Jack," he pants out, "Jack, stop, _Jack_."

It's too good, he doesn't know how to say, can barely form the thoughts to make words beyond _yes_ and _no_ and _Jack, Jack, Jack_.

" _Jack_ ," he says again, harsher, except it's not him saying it at all, it's Parse, and Jack's tongue lays flat against him once more before pulling away completely, and Eric keeps shaking.

"He said stop, Jack," Parse says. It's a little more gentle this time.

Eric breathes heavily into his arms. "No — I said — I'm fine, I'm fine —"

Jack doesn't say anything, just lays himself out next to Eric. He runs a hand through Eric's hair, pets his shoulders softly. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers finally. "Are you okay?"

Eric raises his head enough, steadies his breathing enough, to be able to laugh in Jack's face. " _Okay_? Lord, Jack, do you not know what you do to a boy?"

Jack's worried expression cracks. "So … good?"

"Good," Eric says, reaches out shakily to pull Jack in for a kiss. He stills just as their lips touch. 

"Um," he says quietly, pulling away just slightly. He can feel the color rising in his cheeks. He can hear Parse laughing, feels the dip of the bed as Parse slides onto it.

Parse sounds teasing when he says "C'mon," but Eric isn't sure who's being chirped here. He figures it's him though, maybe, as Parse wraps a hand around the back of Jack's head to pull him in for a long kiss. 

Eric leans into Jack's side, grateful for the arm Jack wraps around him so fast it seems instinctive; he's still a little shaky. He keeps his eyes closed and doesn't see them kissing, but it's impossible not to hear it from here, the soft wet sounds of their lips and tongues. Jack's tongue. Eric squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

They snap open when he feels lips graze against his own. "I told you," Parse whispers, his breath warm on Eric's face. "He's fuckin' amazing at that."

And then he's off the bed again, sitting in his chair polite as anything, and Jack has both his arms wrapped around Eric and they're kissing, hungrily. 

"That," Eric says between kisses, "was. Amazing. You're amazing. We're. Investing in. Breath minmmmph." He sighs into Jack's mouth as he moves to straddle Jack's lap. He fists a hand in the fabric of Jack's shirt. He can feel Jack's dick hard against him and he shifts to line them up, drinks in Jack's groans when he grinds down on him.

"I wanna fuck you," Eric says against Jack's lips. "Can I fuck you?" He presses his hips down again, insistent. Jack's hands twitch on Eric's back, tighten, and he mumbles something that's almost definitely _Yes_ , as he lays back and pulls Eric down on top of him.

They keep kissing. Eric pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it off the bed, traces his fingers over the bulge in Jack's jeans as long as he's sitting up. Jack groans, and Eric leans back down to swallow it.

He keeps his fingers moving, his hand wrapping around Jack's erection through the denim. "Eric," Jack whispers, soft and needy. Eric finds the button of Jack's jeans and flips it open, unzips them just as quickly. When Eric goes to wrap his his hand around Jack for real, Jack shakes his head.

"Just fuck me," he says, and Eric feels something tight and warm in his chest. Being with Jack makes him feel so … it makes him feel. They're really gonna need to have a talk, maybe some time soon.

But not now. Now, Eric helps Jack to pull off his pants, and when they fall back to the bed they're both naked, hard, eager. Eric can feel a dampness against his abs where Jack's already starting to leak precome. He lets his hands slide down to Jack's ass, marveling as much as appreciating; there are days he can't believe how lucky he is, to have exclusive access to the most renowned ass on campus. Or well. Maybe exclusive. He's lucky, anyway; Lord is he feeling lucky right now.

"Parse!" he says. Below him, Jack's eyes widen slightly. He looks … like he'd forgotten where they were, like he was lost in what they were doing, and Eric can't help but feel that glow again.

"Bittle," Parse replies cooly, and when Eric looks over his shoulder Parse is dangling a strip of condoms from his fingers. Eric smiles, and Parse outright smirks. Smug is an unfairly good look on him. He rips one of the condom packets off and tosses it on the bed. "Lube in the nightstand," he adds, and Eric wonders if that's here year-round, if his parents never come into this bedroom.

If his … Oh, Lord.

"Parse, your _parents_. Oh my … do we need to be quiet? Have we been quiet enough? Goodness, please tell me they haven't heard anything!" There's no way he had been quiet while Jack was … while Jack was doing that, and he'd barely even given it a thought. 

It's ridiculous to be this embarrassed when he's sitting bare naked on top of an equally naked Jack, both of them all on display, but Parse is about to learn that he's a full-body blusher. His erection is flagging, but that there's still any blood going to his dick at all is a wonder.

Parse is laughing. He really is lucky it's a good look.

"They're binge-watching something on Netflix," he says. "I don't think they're done with Breaking Bad yet. I promise, they're not paying any attention. I'd've gotten roped into it if you two weren't here — so hey, thanks. I'd rather be watching this." He leans back in his chair, smirking.

Kent Parson is _insufferable_.

The lube turns out to be an actual pump, like a soap dispenser, and half-empty; when Eric turns to raise an eyebrow at Parse he just shrugs.

He gets the condom on and slicks his fingers up, slides two of them into Jack just to hear his sharp exhale, the surprised noise that's almost a squeak. 

" _God_ , Eric," Jack says. (Eric has yet to startle him into speaking Québécois, but a boy can dream.)

He works his fingers inside Jack, stretching him slowly, teasing him with the press of a third finger before finally adding it in. He can feel the tension in Jack's legs from the way his feet press down hard into the mattress, the way he's lifting his ass in the air just slightly like he's trying to push forward into Eric's hand. Eric pets down the line of one of Jack's calves with the hand that's not inside him.

Jack grits out Eric's name again. Eric pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bedspread (sorry, Parse).

He lines himself up and starts pushing, slowly. One of Jack's legs wraps around him, urging him forward. The other leg bends, pressing to Jack's chest as Eric finally moves all the way inside him.

"C'mon, harder," Jack doesn't say, because it's Parse, Parse urging him on, and Lord if that doesn't do something for Eric.

He moves harder: short, sharp little thrusts that have Jack squirming beneath him, his face screwed up in what would look like pain if Eric didn't know better. He can feel Parse's eyes on his back.

"You know he can take it," Parse says, and he sounds so damn casual.

Parse keeps talking, and Eric, Heaven help him, keeps listening. Jack's just so _responsive_ ; he's still quiet, he's almost always quiet, but he's moving up to meet Eric's thrusts, pulling him down for a messy kiss while Parse narrates.

"Hey Zimms, why don't you ride him," Parse suggests. His tone is so mild that he has to be up to something, has to be; Eric stops moving to look over his shoulder suspiciously, until Jack gasps out " _Eric_ ," desperate.

Eric leans in to kiss him, pet his face and run fingers through his hair. "You want to?" he whispers, kissing Jack's neck.

"Yeah," Jack says, and Eric will never, ever tire of how wrecked he sounds. How wrecked Eric can make him sound.

He kisses Jack hard when he pulls out, wraps a hand in Jack's hair and tugs on it just slightly, murmurs "Up."

It almost hurts to move away from the tight confines of Jack's body, but when Jack slides back onto him in one smooth motion, he feels so good that it's absolutely worth it. Feels so good, and looks so good. Jack is beautiful like this, powerful thighs moving as he fucks himself on Eric's dick.

"You look so good," Parse says, an echo of Eric's thoughts.

When he looks over, Parse is just standing up. He has his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, his pants still on but undone, the flushed tip of his dick peeking out from his underwear.

"You look so good like this, you know that?" Parse's voice is low as he moves onto the bed, settles himself behind Jack. With Jack between them Parse is just a pair of slim hands on Jack's chest, a tuft of blond hair over his shoulder, and Eric can't help but think about what he'd said last night: about Jack and tiny blonds. Hands and hair and his damn voice, which just keeps talking. "You look so good getting fucked, Zimms. You always have. If it wouldn't fuck with your NHL career I'd film you, get your face on camera while you're getting pounded."

"Parse," Jack protests, "shut up," and he probably means it to sound final but the way he's screwing down on Eric's dick makes it pretty clear he's into it.

Eric laughs. "You wanna make a sex tape?" he says, and hopes it's clear he's joking. That is just not the kind of vlog he runs.

Jack doesn't respond except with a gasp. Eric can see Parse's hand tracing up and down Jack's spine. He feels something cold run down onto his balls; Parse's fingers must be dripping with lube. 

Jack has stopped moving, shivering above him as Parse's hand keeps making its way steadily lower and lower. Eric would worry if it weren't for the look on Jack's face, biting his lip with his eyes shut tight, blissful.

The lube is still cold when Parse's fingers skim over the place where Jack and Eric's bodies meet. 

"Parse," Eric says quietly, warningly, but Parse just hums in response, fingertips pressing against the base of Eric's dick.

"You want me to give you what you want, Jack?" Parse asks, and when Jack nods Eric can't find it in himself to protest.

The feeling of Parse's finger on his dick, inside Jack, is nothing short of surreal. Jack suddenly feels impossibly tight around him, Parse's finger impossibly big.

"My God," he gasps out. Parse pulls his finger most of the way out, pushes it back in, crooks it slightly. The tip of his finger presses against Eric's dick. It feels, somehow, like _he_ 's getting fucked.

The finger withdraws and Eric can hear Jack choke out a sob, the good kind. It's the good kind of shaking, too, when Jack tucks his head into the crook of Eric's shoulder, when Eric feels something blunt press up against the base of his dick.

"I can't, Kenny, I can't," Jack pants out. 

Eric feels a rush of jealousy, possessiveness, at the nickname, feels it even stronger when Parse murmurs "I know, babe, I know."

His dick nudges up against Eric's once again, and then moves, slides up the crack of Jack's ass. Eric can _feel_ it, feel all of it, and that's — completely insane. There's a part of him, the part that tends to speak with his mama's voice, that can't believe this is happening.

He really doesn't want to think about his mama right now.

Jack is bent forward, his forehead pressed into the pillow next to Eric, his big hands bracketing their heads, barely moving except to heave deep breaths. Eric rubs a hand up and down Jack's side. He cups Jack's cheek and whispers, "C'mere," and Jack lifts his head to give Eric a long, sweet, shaky kiss.

_Is that a thing you're into?_ Eric thinks, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't want to overwhelm Jack even more than he is right now. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth, to his forehead. 

Eric gasps when Jack sits back up. His eyes slip shut as Jack begins riding him again, and it's not until he hears the slick sounds of kissing that he opens them.

Parse is plastered along Jack's back, moving almost in sync with him, an arm wrapped around Jack's chest. Jack's head is tilted back, their mouths fused together.

"Jack," Eric can just hear Parse mumble, "Can — can I?" Jack moves away enough to nod, and Parse pulls back.

Eric can see the motion of Parse's arm behind Jack's back. It looks like he's barely had a chance to touch himself before he comes, his head falling back, breathing out a quiet little _ahhh_.

Jack's head bows forward again, and Eric can just imagine the picture it must make, for Parse: Jack bent over, his ass on display, dripping with Parse's come. He wishes he could see it. He wishes he didn't shiver when some of that come slides down Jack's ass and lands on his balls, just below the line of the condom.

But he does, and that shiver echoes through Jack, and Eric comes so quickly, so hard, that it surprises him. He gasps out Jack's name.

He's still flat back against the pillows with his eyes closed when Jack slowly pulls off of him. Jack likes to be fucked through his own orgasms, shivering and shaking as Eric presses into him again and again, but Eric is mostly useless for a minute or so after he comes. He doesn't even flinch at the fingers on his dick, pulling the condom off; it's a few seconds before he even registers that the fingers aren't Jack's.

"Parse," he manages; it comes out sounding more plea than protest.

"Yep," Parse says, sounding way too cheerful for a guy who only just reached orgasm himself. Eric can feel the heat of him as he leans in, even before he brushes his lips across Eric's.

"Parse," he says again, and this time it's more of a sigh.

He blinks his eyes open to see Jack staring at him, his own eyes wide, dick hard and flushed against his abs. "C'mere," he says, and Jack all but falls on him, kissing him voraciously, dick insistent against Eric's stomach. Eric reaches between them to get a hand on it, jerks Jack off slowly between them.

"I —" he starts, and bites it back. He tugs harder on Jack's dick.

"Wait," Parse says, and it's forceful enough that Eric stops his hand. Parse sounds intent, a little desperate. "Zimms," he says, "I wanna suck you off." Jack groans into Eric's mouth.

They rearrange themselves quickly, Eric pressed up against the headboard and Jack between his legs, Eric's arms wrapped most of the way around him. He runs a thumb idly over Jack's nipple, and Jack shivers. Between Jack's legs, Parse grins up at them.

"Bet I'm still good at this," he says, sounding pretty damn sure. He lowers his head to lap at Jack's dick, then closes his mouth over the head; that's all Eric can see before it's just a tumble of messy blond hair and Jack trembling in his arms.

It's not long before Jack comes with a cry, jerking upward in Eric's lap. Eric wonders if Parse chokes on it, wonders if he likes it.

Parse pulls away, actually licking his lips. Eric frowns at him. "Keep touching him," he says. Parse's eyes widen but he doesn't say anything, just lowers his head again to take Jack's softening dick in his mouth. Jack twitches and lets out a long sigh. His head tips back onto Eric's shoulder. Eric pets softly down the line of his neck.

"Kent," Jack huffs out after a minute. Parse pulls off.

Jack looks so _good_ like this. He always looks good, in Eric's humble opinion, but right now he looks fucked-out and sated and … not quite like he doesn't have a care in the world; he'll probably never look like that. But he looks like he's put his worries aside for a little while, like being in Eric's arms is worth more than his troubles. Eric kisses the crown of Jack's head.

Jack is so … he's so _good_. And it seems like no one ever tells him that enough, seems like he'll never believe it when they do.

"You're so good, you know that," he whispers into Jack's hair. It's not a question. Not to him.

His eyes cut over to Parse. He's still sprawled between Jack's legs, looking up at them with an expression Eric can't put a name to. 

"And you were so good tonight." He raises his voice, just a little, just enough that he's sure Parse can hear him. "So good for both of us. Wasn't he, Parse?"

Parse sounds a little dazed when he echoes, "So good, Zimms."

He crawls up onto his knees, close enough that he can press a kiss to Jack's lips. Jack doesn't kiss him back, not really, but he doesn't make any move to push Parse off, either, just makes happy, tired noises into his mouth. When Parse leans up to kiss Eric, Eric responds more eagerly.

"You two just make out and leave me alone," Jack grumbles sleepily, rolling out from Eric's grasp. "I'm going to sleep." He lays on his side, though, facing them, so Eric's sure he's more likely to watch them than actually sleep.

"Wanna?" he offers, turning to look at Parse again. 

He looks ridiculous, with his shirt still on and his dick hanging out of his jeans, his hair somehow impossibly mussed even though Eric's not sure how that happened. It's too bad, Eric muses, that Parse has already come; there's a part of Eric that's just aching to give him a handjob, dressed like that.

Well. There's time yet.

Parse leans over him, hands braced on either side of his head, and kisses him more softly than he would have expected. 

Eric's fingers trace around the shell of Parse's ear. He runs them down Parse's jaw, then over to his neck to finally, finally get them back on that damn hickey. Parse hisses.

"I can't believe your parents didn't say anything," Eric says. He presses his thumb into it. Parse shivers, but his voice stays carefully unaffected.

"Oh, they weren't gonna do it in front of you, but I'll get an earful about it later. Not taking advantage of college girls. Or boys." He presses his lips to Eric's throat, dislodging Eric's hand.

Eric blinks. "Your parents … know you like boys?"

"Yeah," Parse says casually. "They're cool." He captures Eric's lips again.

And Eric kisses him back, he does, and he means it, but … Kent Parson is _out to his parents_. He's out to his parents, maybe he's out to his _team_. He's in the NHL and his parents love him, and …

"Still with me, Bits?"

And he's grinning down at Eric, his eyes a little distant like he's worried, and Eric, oh Lord, is starting to get to know his facial expressions.

"I'm with you," Eric says, and he pulls Parse down on top of him. The denim is a little scratchy against his thighs, but he can feel Parse's dick start to stir, and when he looks over Jack is pretending like he's not watching.

Parse's mouth opens for him and Eric kisses him eagerly, relishing the slide of their tongues and the way Parse moans quietly when Eric bites softly at his lip, the way Parse moans louder when he bites down harder.

His lips track the path his fingers had taken earlier, kissing Parse's jaw and nibbling at his earlobe, licking across the mark on his neck and then blowing on it, just to feel him shiver. 

"You like that?" Parse murmurs. "Like marking me up?" Eric hums his assent. _Like making you mine_ , he thinks, and startles just a little. He doesn't mean that, couldn't …

He runs a hand across Parse's shoulder blade to distract himself, down his arm and back up again. Drags his hand down Parse's side, nails dug in just a little. Parse shivers, breathes out something that's probably a _Yeah_.

It's a good sound. Beside them, Jack's eyes are slitted and dark.

Eric wraps his hand around Parse's dick. Parse lets out a choked-off _ahhh_ and pushes his hips forward to meet Eric's hand. It's a little rough, but Parse's noise of protest, when Eric tries to move his hand and get some lube, is definitive. "'S'good," he says, panting. "'S'good."

Parse doesn't last much longer, coming almost the moment Eric runs his thumbnail across the head of his dick. He slumps forward onto Eric's chest, into his own come, and Eric makes a face.

"Move, move," he says, as soon as seems polite. "I wanna —" There's a box of tissues on the nightstand, and he nudges Parse over enough to wipe the both of them up. 

Parse sits up, surprisingly agile for how close to passed out he seemed just a moment ago, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He peers at the clock on the nightstand.

"Last train out's in an hour," Parse says. He yawns dramatically, stretching his arms up over his head and craning his neck one way and then the other. "We could make it, but we'd have to book. There's a train in the morning; might as well just stay."

"That was your plan all along, wasn't it?" Eric accuses, and Parse does a terrible job of looking innocent. "You want to get me in your bed, well …" Eric chuckles, a little self-conscious. "Looks like all you've got to do is ask."

Parse smirks, and lays himself down mostly on top of Eric. "I don't usually _ask_ for what I want, but … Hey, Jack, can I keep Bitty?"

Eric starts to protest — he's certainly not Jack's to give away! — but Parse tips his chin up for a kiss and he falls into it eagerly. He flinches away from Parse's grasp when he feels the hand on his shoulder, shoves Parse away with a laugh. He lifts his face to meet Jack, instead, where he's leaning in for a kiss.

There's something almost easy about this, Parse nuzzling at his neck while Jack kisses him, naked in bed while the Arctic Monkeys play in the background.

He runs a hand through Parse's hair, and Parse kisses below his ear. Eric shivers. "Take your clothes off," he suggests. "You're awful overdressed." 

Parse gets up off the bed with an audible groan, stretching out again. He kicks his jeans the rest of the way off and starts unbuttoning his shirt with a smirk. "All you had to do was ask," he says teasingly.

Eric rolls his eyes, and runs his thumb along Jack's cheekbone. Jack makes a small, pleased noise, although Eric's not sure if it's at the contact or Parse's striptease act. Either way, he tugs at Jack until Jack crawls on top of him; he runs a hand down Jack's back until he reaches his ass, then pulls his hand away quickly, shaking off the flakes of dried come. 

"Gross," he says, pushing Jack away lightly and wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Parse laughs, and heads for the door in just his underwear. "Be right back," he says. He leaves it open behind him.

"Bathroom down here working?" Jack calls.

"Fixed the plumbing last year!" Parse calls back. Water starts running.

"The plumbing down here was always terrible," Jack explains. There's another pang in Eric's chest — there is _so_ much history here; it keeps feeling like he's stumbled into something bigger than himself, something secret and impenetrable. But then Parse throws a wet washcloth onto Jack's face and crawls into bed while Jack splutters beneath it, and he grins at Eric like Eric is in on the joke.

Parse lays back, hands on the pillow behind his head. "Ugh," he says. "I should go get the couch cushions. But I don't wanna get up." He turns and nuzzles into the crook of Eric's neck again.

"Couch cushions?" Eric echoes, confused. One of Parse's arms drapes across his chest, his hand on Eric's shoulder.

"He cuddles," Jack says warningly, a dark note to his voice that seems disproportionate to the situation at hand. Despite it, he takes Parse's hand in his and presses a kiss to each knuckle. They're close enough together that if Eric tilted his head to the side, he could kiss Parse's hand, too.

Parse ignores Jack's words, but Eric can feel him shiver a little at the contact. "My folks won't come in here, but they might come downstairs," he explains. "Don't wanna explain how we all slept in the same bed. But this way it just seems like —"

"A slumber party," Jack finishes, and rolls his eyes. From the looks of it, it's not the first time Parse has used this cunning plan. But Jack's still allowed to stay over, so it must work. "Go," Jack says, and lets go of Parse's hand.

Parse gets up with a grumble, his hand trailing across Eric's chest. He walks out the door.

Jack wraps an arm around Eric and Eric scoots closer, tucking his head against Jack's chest.

"I can sleep in the middle, if you want," Jack offers. Before Eric even has time to feel — jealousy, or concern, or anything, Jack says, "He's a goddamn octopus. You don't have to deal with it if you don't want."

Eric laughs. His chest feels light. "I think I can handle it," he says.

He tilts his face up to Jack's. They're still kissing when Parse walks back into the room.

 

_/

 

The train leaves early, 8:22. 

At 8:17, Eric stares blearily over the train tracks, wishing he'd brought sunglasses. Or at least a change of clothes. Behind him, Jack and Parse are exchanging an awkward farewell.

When he turns, the two are hovering next to each other, just too close to be casual and just too far away to be anything else. Parse keeps leaning in and then moving back. Jack puts a hand on his shoulder at one point, then removes it quickly. They're speaking just too quietly for Eric to hear.

He turns back to the tracks, peering down them to see if he can see headlights. He can't, of course; he's not even sure if he's looking in the right direction.

Parse comes up behind him, slings a companionable arm around his shoulder. He presses a kiss to Eric's cheek, impossibly quick, like someone at the deserted train station will see them. "Don't forget to write, now, y'hear?" he says, in a passable imitation of Eric's own accent.

"I don't sound like that!" Eric says anyway, laughing, and shoves Parse away.

Parse pulls him in again, tighter. "Y'sure do," he drawls. He drops the accent to whisper into Eric's ear, "Got your number from Zimms. Don't open my texts in public."

Eric can feel himself blushing. "Thanks for the heads up."

"I am nothing if not a gentleman," Parse says. Jack, behind them, snorts; Eric's not sure when he approached, but it's good timing; there's a voice overhead saying the train will be approaching soon.

"Thanks for the tickets," Jack says stiffly.

Parse shrugs. "Sorry I couldn't drive you back."

Jack holds out his hand, and Parse rolls his eyes, uses it to pull Jack in for a hug. If they hold on a little tighter or a little longer than most bros would, there's no one around to see it.

The train pulls into the station.

 

_/

 

"You still like him," Eric says quietly. It's been a quiet ride so far, Jack mostly looking out the window and Eric dozing on and off, watching Jack watch the scenery when he's awake. He'd gone to the lunch car earlier, but it wasn't open yet.

Jack starts. He doesn't turn to look at Eric, just keeps gazing outward. He sounds almost cranky when he says, "What?"

"Parse. You still …" Eric takes a deep breath. "You still like him. And that's okay, I mean, I don't want to get in the way of that if … if you two …"

He trails off. It's a lie, it's absolutely a lie; there's no part of him that wants to stand aside and let Jack go off with Kent Parson. But he wants Jack to be happy — and he wants Parse to be happy, for that matter; he's still not sure how he feels about him, but he can't bring himself to wish Parse ill, not anymore.

He wants Jack to be happy. So he'll let go, if he has to.

"Bittle."

Jack turns toward him, finally, and Eric flinches. Captain voice is probably not a good sign.

"Bittle, _Eric_. Listen to me." Jack grabs one of Eric's hands in his own. Eric stares down at their joined hands.

Jack takes a deep breath. He speaks haltingly. "Look, I … Parse was … he was there for the best times in my life. He was there for … for the worst. There's a part of me that's … I'm always gonna … he's always going to mean something to me. Something important.

"But I've had … new best times. Without him. I'm not who I was when we … when I." Another shaky inhale. "I've had new best times with … at Samwell. With … you."

Eric blinks up at him. "Oh, really?" He tries to keep his voice cool, but there's a tiny part of him shrieking: _This is it this is it! He's gonna say it!_

"So ... what does this mean?" he asks, slow, because he can't keep his fool mouth shut. He's already worried he'll regret it. "If you still like Parse, and you —"

"I like you," Jack says, all in a rush. "I like you a lot, Eric."

"I like you a lot too," Eric says quietly, almost shyly. He squeezes Jack's hand, and Jack looks down, a look on his face like he'd forgotten they were touching at all. 

"So …" he asks again. "What _does_ it mean?"

"Mean?"

"This … thing. With Parse." Now or never, Eric figures, and takes a deep breath. "What does it mean for … us?"

He can't quite decipher the look on Jack's face as Jack asks, "Are we an us?"

"If — if you want to be. I want to be."

"I want to be," Jack says quickly. He brings Eric's hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, all gentleman-like, before releasing it.

"We'll see what to do about Kent when we … come to him …" Jack's lip quirks into a hint of a smile. "That metaphor got away from me a little."

Eric grins. "Good thing you're not an English major."

Jack groans. "Oh God, don't remind me. I have so much work to do. I should never have taken an entire day off to—" He stops abruptly, like he's remembering exactly what he'd spent that day off doing. His ears go pink.

Eric laughs. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you stay on task."

"Why do I not believe that," Jack grumbles, and Eric laughs again. He tries to hush himself; the train car is relatively deserted, but he still doesn't want to draw any unnecessary attention their way. 

He leans, tentatively, against Jack, and looks out the window. It's as good a pretext as any.

"It's pretty out there," he says, and he's close enough to feel it when Jack hums his assent. Jack shifts, and Eric is prepared to pull away when he feels an arm wrap around his shoulder.

"At school —" Jack says, sounding uncomfortable again. "And — in general. I can't — You know I can't. But. For now."

"I know," Eric says simply. That's another talk they're going to have to have, but for now … for now Jack likes him, likes him a lot, and Eric is curled into his side as the train moves on toward Samwell.

_/ _/ _/

**Author's Note:**

> at long fucking last, part three is finished. working titles for these fics were "hockey threesome hell," "hockey twosome hell," and "additional hell," and let me tell you, friends, these names were apt.
> 
> thanks to taylor swift for the titles, ouroboros for the beta, onceuponamoon for looking it over, and reserve for everything.


End file.
